


God's Will Be Done

by Vivien



Category: 15th Century CE RPF
Genre: Dark, Historical, M/M, Seduction, non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-19
Updated: 2010-12-19
Packaged: 2017-10-13 19:12:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/140702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vivien/pseuds/Vivien
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Alfonso was so very thick, Cesare thought, as he placed one hand on his shoulder and backed him against the chamber wall.  “No, nothing at all is wrong. I only want something of you,” Cesare said, and he trailed his free hand down Alfonso’s chest.  He would have this prince on his knees and begging for him by the end of the night.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	God's Will Be Done

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chayaasi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chayaasi/gifts).



> I stuck to historical record as much as I could, and I hope everything is close enough to the period to work. This was great fun to write; thank you so much for the prompt. The tag warning for Non-Con is more to be safe than sorry and not surprise someone in a bad way, but the Borgias were a pretty non-con bunch! I enjoyed researching the family and recalling what they got away with.
> 
> Miguel de Corella is also known as Don Micheletto.
> 
> Thanks to G. and G. for the beta.

“Madam, I will escort you now.”

“Will you?” Lucrezia Borgia sneered, mocking her brother’s bodyguard and pet assassin. “God’s will be done.” She knew there was no way of getting out of this audience with her father, the Pope Alexander, and her brother, Cesare.

“Indeed, it will be,” replied Miguel de Corella in all sincerity.

Lucrezia rose to her feet, weary from the late stages of this most unwanted pregnancy, and she allowed the man to do as he was bid.

* * *

“How can I be married? I’m with child, Father. As you well know.”

“That is a matter of inconvenience, to be sure, but it is not insurmountable.” The Pope did not look up as he sifted through the official parchments of the day’s business. Lucrezia’s marriage was but one piece of an intricate and constantly shifting puzzle.

Cesare walked behind his sister and placed his hand on her shoulder. He leaned down, smiling, to speak to her. “Once it is born, we’ll name one of my mistresses as the mother. The child will still be a Borgia, but it will never have the name Sforza. Thus we have two problems solved. Your first husband will have no claims upon us, should he be foolish enough to challenge the annulment, and you, my dear sister, will be free of your burden and ready to aid our family with your new alliance.”

“But-” She glanced up, pleading. Cesare would always at least listen to her protestations, unlike their father.

“I will hear no more,” said her father, ending the discussion. “This is what will happen. Now I must attend to more important matters.” His attendant gathered his parchments at the lift of the Holy Father’s finger. “Oh, and Lucrezia? You will stay here in the city. Running off to the convent in Nepi is not an option.” With that, her father swept out of the receiving room.

Lucrezia brushed away an angry tear.

Cesare tipped her face up to look at him. “Come, Lucrezia, this should be a celebration and not a defeat. You will marry a most comely youth.” Cesare’s eyes slid to Miguel’s, wicked mirth dancing there. His henchman responded with a ghost of a smirk.

“I visited young Alfonso’s court. He is fair, healthy, of an age with you. Wasn’t he, Don Michelotto?” Cesare waited for Miguel's nod before continuing. “You are not to be wed to a sour, old malcontent. You’ll be married to a prince, literally and figuratively.”

“I wish to remain in the convent,” she said, balling her fists against her thighs in frustration. “If I were allowed, I would take the Holy Orders.”

Cesare shook his head, grinning while he took his sister’s arm. “We both know that is neither an option nor a satisfying choice. You? A Bride of Christ? You prefer more earthly marriage beds.” He caressed her cheek.

Lucrezia blushed bright red. “Perhaps. He is fair, this Alfonso? Does he dance well?”

“Oh, my sister,” Cesare laughed, “he dances well indeed.”

* * *

Cesare lifted his goblet of wine and swirled it as he watched the dancers mill about his laughing sister and her husband. He despised Alfonso as much as Lucrezia adored him. The boy was blond and beaming; he merely had to smile to get whatever he wanted from his doting servants and courtiers. Life was easy for beautiful Alfonso. And his doting wife, Lucrezia, was happier than Cesare had ever seen her. She hardly noticed her family these days.

Well, that would be changing soon enough. Cesare would make sure of it. Alfonso was as stupid as he was charming. He would be easy enough to back into a corner or to be rid of altogether, when it came to that.

“Your sister seems happy, sir,” Miguel noted from his place behind Cesare’s chair. He knew how Cesare’s mind worked, and what worried within his soul like a dog at a bone. Miguel cared not for sunlit youths. He cared for the man seated before him. He would die for him. It was the plain and simple truth.

Cesare grinned. His faithful companion was subtle, and he always knew what to say. “She has done her duty. She told Father the happy news earlier today. There is an heir on the way.”

“Happy news indeed.”

“Perhaps. Perhaps. Of course, Alfonso’s marital bliss ends now that she’s quickened. He won’t be plowing that field for a while.”

“I’m sure he’ll find maids willing enough to ease his loss.”

“I have other ideas. After Lucrezia retires, bid him come to my chamber. I have pressing news for the lad.”

Miguel bit back his comment on what might be pressing where, but Cesare read his mind and glanced back at him, his dark eyes glinting with amusement. “We wouldn’t want the boy to stray from the family, now would we?”

“No, sir,” Miguel said, the corner of his lips quirking into a smile.

* * *

“You wished to see me, brother?” Alfonso stood at Cesare’s chamber door. For the son of a king, the boy knew little about how court actually worked. Miguel ushered him all the way inside and then withdrew, where he would stand outside the door until Cesare asked for him once again.

“Oh, yes, I wished to see you,” Cesare said, advancing upon him with a smile. He wore black, of course and as always, the flowing robes of his office, the mark of his dedication to the church. It was such an amusing reminder. There was no God. This Cesare knew. But there was power to be held in His name, and right now, Cesare would use that power to take what he wished.

“But... what for?” Alfonso asked. “Is something wrong?”

Alfonso was so very thick, Cesare thought, as he placed one hand on his shoulder and backed him against the chamber wall. “No, nothing at all is wrong. I only want something of you,” Cesare said, and he trailed his free hand down Alfonso’s chest. He would have this prince on his knees and begging for him by the end of the night. “Something I took once before, when we first met in your father’s court.”

“But... but, sir, I- It was a masquerade, I didn’t know.” Alfonso’s mouth worked as Cesare’s hand slipped into his breeches. “This is wrong. We are family. I insist you stop.”

“Your prick insists otherwise,” Cesare murmured, leaning in to lick the young man’s neck. “You are indeed part of the family, and as such I will tend to you with care.”

“Mmm, no, wait, I-” His protests were weak, and his cock was already hard in Cesare’s hand. Ah, youth. Cesare watched the amusing interplay of warring emotions on his handsome face. “I’ll tell Lucrezia,” Alfonso gasped. “You must not.”

“You’ll tell no one,” Cesare whispered into his ear, “and you shall do as I say. As for Lucrezia, think what happened to her last husband.” He stroked Alfonso lazily and leaned back enough to look into his eyes. “You’re nothing if I say you’re nothing. Do you wish humiliation to befall you? Think how terribly sad your loving wife would be. And your fatherless child.”

Alfonso said nothing, but he stared at Cesare with wide eyes shining with confusion, lust, and, best of all, fear. Finally Alfonso shook his head, closed his eyes, and leaned his head back against the wall.

“That’s the spirit,” Cesare said, and he kissed his throat, claiming him. Thanks be to God, snickered Cesare to himself.

* * *

Cesare writhed beneath Miguel, and that was a glorious, breathtaking sight, indeed. He was buried deep inside Cesare, his lord’s ankles hooked around his shoulders. Miguel was the only one allowed to bed Cesare in this manner. He was the only one Cesare trusted enough. For some, this permission might allow for aspirations of power and influence above their station. Miguel did not dream of the future; he lived in the gratifying present.

“Yes, like that, harder,” growled Cesare. Miguel knew he was near his finish. He wrapped his calloused hand around Cesare’s prick. Cesare gasped and threw his head back, and both men lost themselves in pleasure.

Afterward, the men lazed under the bedclothes together. Cesare often confided in Miguel at such times, and these became cherished moments when Miguel recalled them during long night watches.

“Something must be done about Alfonso,” Cesare sighed, wrapping his arm around Miguel's waist. “The alliance is no longer favorable.”

“He got a living boy child on Lucrezia,” Miguel said, brushing back a lock of dark hair from Cesare’s forehead. “Annulment could be difficult.”

“It won’t be as easy as it was with Sforza. His end must be more final. I trust you will take care of this for me.”

“Of course, my lord.”

Cesare patted Miguel’s cheek. “My dear Michelotto. You are my stalwart, my constant. We will talk more of the details later.”

Miguel smiled as he was pulled down into a passionate kiss. He would do anything for this man. Through him, he knew God and all of His mysterious and ecstatic ways.

* * *

Miguel had failed Cesare. He had _failed_ him. It was unthinkable. The attack in the dark streets of Rome went as planned, but Alfonso was not dead. He should have dealt the fatal blow himself, but Alfonso had been stabbed numerous times. He thought the work had been done.

He entered Cesare’s receiving chamber, his head down. He knew what failure meant. He would accept the consequences as God willed.

Cesare frowned upon seeing his companion in such a state. “Don Michelotto, what is your news?”

Miguel sank to his knees before Cesare. “Alfonso lives.”

“But how?” Cesare frowned. “Didn’t you and your party sink your knives into him?”

“We did, sir, but he was found and taken home. His wounds were attended to by the Pope's own surgeons and he lives. I take the full blame. It was my miscalculation. I am prepared to pay for my mistake.”

Cesare stared at the bowed head before him. Then he chuckled as he ran his hand over Miguel’s closely-shaved skull. “I thank you for your candid report, but I should have known the vigor the youth possessed after tumbling him. The boy could keep on when most would have long since collapsed. No matter. Alfonso may not live through the night. We only know he lives now. If he survives another month, then we’ll see to him.”

Miguel could not believe what he heard. Cesare’s mercy and compassion were boundless. He tipped his face up to stare upon his lord.

Cesare smiled and leaned down. “You will not fail me again,” he said, his face in front of Miguel’s. This was not a threat. It was his surety in Miguel’s abilities speaking.

“Never again.” Miguel vowed.

* * *

Miguel de Corella was an assassin, but he was not a cruel man. If he was ordered to cut someone down in cold blood, that was what he did. God spoke through Cesare, and the will of God was not for the likes of him to puzzle out.

Alfonso slept within his empty chamber. Lucrezia left his side reluctantly and in tears, but she’d been summoned by her father. She knew the will of God must be obeyed, and her loyalty was to her family.

Now Alfonso would sleep forever. Miguel slipped into his room. The young man had been shriven shortly after the first attempt on his life. Miguel would send him to his Maker, which was a blessing.

He fit his gloved hands around Alfonso’s throat. This would be quick, and it would be as painless as Miguel could make it. He closed Alfonso’s windpipe with a firm grip. After a few frenetic moments of struggle once Alfonso awoke, his body stilled. Miguel waited. He would not fail Cesare this time. He placed his dagger under Alfonso’s nose; no mist fogged the steel.

Miguel crossed himself and left the room. “God’s will be done.”


End file.
